Human
by winifredish
Summary: This is what a broken heart must feel like .... [a WIP] ... with SV and VOC
1. Chapter 1

Human. 

**Chapter 1: **

This must be human behaviour she thought while packing her bags and zipping the last suitcase.

She slowly picked up the tubes of lip balm and gloss and put then in the small room. As she looked around one last time she sighed – thinking "where did I go wrong?" when did this become routine?

Wandering around the bedroom she got to the bed and let her hand glide through his hair one last time, she had always loved the texture, the smell – first thing in the morning sweat mixed with the faint sweet smell of watermelons. She stood a moment wondering and just feeling, when he moved about a bit she quickly pulled her hand back as if she had been burned – but still rooted to the spot, waiting for him to wake up and see she was going again.

She slowly began moving out into the living rooms to get her phone and find the keys, as she was tiptoeing out she began thinking "how could he?" and replaying that fateful night over and over in her mind. While she walked out and slipped on her shoes.

She went to the counter in the kitchen taking her keys, taking out the key for the flat and leaving it with a short note saying "still love you" – in her usual slightly messy and swirly handwriting. Tears started staining her cheeks as she moved towards the front door, silently praying and begging he would come out to stop her, tell her that she was the one he loved – nobody else mattered and that "she" was nothing but a distant memory.

But as she reached for the doorknob, she still heard no sounds other than the calm steady breathing from the bedroom. No signs indicating he would come to convince her to go back to bed and stay or at least wait until morning with leaving. No cautious steps from any of the rooms, no movement or sounds from the bedroom. After she had closed the door gently behind, so to not wake him up, she finally let out the breath she felt like had been holding since she learned the truth.

While she was leaving the flat she had been so focused on him and her leaving, she didn't notice when his breath had changed or when it had stopped all together.

Even if he had been awake when he learned she knew the truth about that night, he would have done nothing. He instantly knew he would no longer wake up to see her exhausted and peacefully tangled up the sheets with her smooth and shiny hair in loose knots and unruly spread over face and pillow. So unlike her normally perfectly styled hair, he thought while he listened to her zipping another bag closed.

He felt her warmth getting closer and closer after she had finished zipping her bags and suddenly he felt the familiar soft hands threading through his short hair. As they kept touching he started to pick up the soft smell of passion fruit and green apples, her lotion and shampoo, he still remembered how she would take out lumps from her jar and smoothly spread the rich cream on first her legs, then arms and torso making sure that she didn't miss a single spot, and that she always had perfect skin.

He became more and more obsessed with her smell as she kept standing there and kept touching him. His sudden obsession made him wanting to reach out to her – beg her to stay, promise it would never happen again – that "she" was just a long forgotten dream. When it all became too much and he started to reaching out for her – she jumped back like she been burned and rush quietly out of the room.

As she rushed quietly out of the room with her bags he started feeling numbness and pricking feeling spread, starting in the left arm and spreading over the chest and moving down his body as he heard the pencil making contact with the paper again. He could feel the numbness and pricking having spread all the way down to his toes that was now curling in numbness and pain when she had stopped writing.

It kept getting harder to breathe; he could feel the numbness spread to the lungs, constricting and relaxing at the wrong times and with no order at all. But he kept silent and just listened to her imaging how she would look with beautiful tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes standing lost in the hallway.

He started to feel the lack of oxygen wrapping itself around him making everything seem distant and faraway. He felt a tugging in his heart and instantly thought this must be how a broken heart feels like. As the thumping was slowing down he heard a distant clink when the key fell onto the hardwood floors, and again a muted clink when she put the key on the table next to the handwritten note.

As he slipped under the endless darkness of unconsciousness he heard one last sound, almost as he felt one last thump, a door clicking and closing. He let out his breath one last time. A breath he never he was holding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

He was found 2 days later when he didn't show up for work.

I'm not really sure I remember how it all ended or even who found him – it might have been me – I might have volunteered to go see if he was home. I had yet to talk to him about that night. But I do know that if I stopped and began focusing on his sweet smell, always watermelons, and the texture of his skin, how he got wrinkles when he worried and his hair sticking up in all directions and how it felt when he held me and comforted me that night – when I made my first and biggest mistake, in thinking he would switch black for brown, from passion fruit and green apples to orchids and strawberries.

I remember how I was missing waking up next to him and seeing that sandy blonde hair messed up and his face relaxed and smooth – he was always so peaceful and looked so young.

While she stood there trying to remember and trying to repress the urge to step outside her body and just walk over to him and smooth out the wrinkles he had gained when he had been slipped away. While she stood numb and unsure paramedics started swarming around them like bees around sweet smelling sugary fruit on a hot summer day.

I think I was asked something – I'm still not sure. Maybe. Just maybe I even answered. The last thing I do remember though was darkness. Complete darkness. Black as the night sky and aromatic coffee I drink every morning. I think I might have dreamt it but it sounded like he was screaming my name over and over when I slipped under the darkness. Repeating Sydney Sydney Sydney Sydney over and over. I let myself disappear in the comfort that is the darkness and his calm sweet voice.

**Couple of days later at the funeral**

I felt like walking in a haze this was the 2nd time in a month I had to bury someone I loved so much – almost too much. I think my name was called when I first arrived at the graveyard, for the outdoor ceremony. I just stood – watching how everybody walked around talking to each other. How could they just act like they aren't at funeral for one of their oldest friends even if he hadn't been a good friend lately, wasn't really mentally there most of the time or very welcoming.

I still remember, I think and hope it was not just another dream, him that night he was warm and comforted me. Like he had done so many times before. One thing I still remember is how he was excited about a girl even if he refused to tell anything about her. He was just constantly glowing and had that special sparkle, she had never seen it before – only once heard about it from Weiss and even he couldn't tell much or I just couldn't remember much then and I remember even less now.

Now standing here at his grave weeping for a man I don't know who is anymore. Even if not sure anymore I ever knew him. But for some odd reason I just keep standing here and I start to feel numbness spreading throughout my mind and feet, while I got a peculiar feel on my right index- and middle finger it's almost like warm thick summer rain but it couldn't be cause it's February and it's supposed to be harsh and unforgiving.

"Sydney did you want to say something?"

I suddenly hear. When I hear my name I jump like I've been burned – someone called out my name and now I'm afraid to meet anybody's judging stares. So I continue to look at the paper I have in my hand it got that very distinct red colour smeared that's also marring my index- and middle finger and wrists. I think I know the colour. I try to open my mouth to speak I still feel like I'm silent I don't know but I don't think I'm actually saying any of the words I got on my paper. I feel like I'm just staring at the paper and then turning it. I don't really know if there's anything on or I just imagined I turned it. I think I just stood there and stared at a maybe blank paper – I think there was something on at least I'm not really sure. I never am anymore.

I slowly gathered courage to take my eyes off the paper and when I didn't think anybody was looking or noticed me taking the eyes off the paper until I saw **her. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

She just stood there. Her black dress was perfection flowing around and hitting her legs. Her raven black hair was as the dress perfection. If only she had been closer she was almost sure she would have been able to smell what perhaps would have been unique, and maybe her shampoo mixed with sickly sweet smell of desperation. If there was one thing she knew it was the smell of desperation – she probably still wore along with emitting pure confusion and she had been sure she had also felt it coming from Vaughn when she first came back. What really drew her attention though was how her pale skin and clear electric blue eyes both seemed so flawless and oh so hypnotizing. She just kept staring across the open grave at her like she never seen anything like it.

When I finally stopped staring at one detail like where the beautiful long slightly torn black dress hit her slender pale legs or how her cheeks had raw red patches and splotches from where the tears had fallen and some of them stopped or how her electric blue eyes were filled with what I think was tragedy and sadness. She was too beautiful and too tragic to be real.

I just kept staring at this tragic angelic beauty until I felt like somebody touched me. I turned around to look at who might have touched me – but I don't even have any idea who it is if I even saw the person or why he or she even touched me. When I turn back to keep staring at the beauty was standing there's no one and nothing but headstones and trees. I don't even know if there ever was anybody there or just my mind again. I don't even know if there were any other funerals that day but I find it hard to believe and it wasn't a big graveyard so she couldn't just have gone to another grave – I think.

As I walked away from the tragic and beautiful yard I can still feel the damp grass underneath my feet and smell of the wet grass and the truly spectacular subtle smell of misty air. I've been able to all day while I was walking around this yard – I still refuse to call it a graveyard. Since I don't feel or smell the hopeless death or feel the pain of the ones left behind. This was probably also why I chose it – this yard was so filled with life – in spite of everything I'm still hopelessly and endlessly in love with him.

I don't think I would ever be able to not be in love with that man or forget the smell or how he sounds when he's happily exhausted and all tangled up in the sheets. Even the smell of his exhaustion mixed with what I learned had to be Sydney he always wore after a mission, even if he did quit the agency years ago. He had changed drastically after that I remember how sweet the smell of desperation was before and how he wore it all the time – most times mixed with a serene look on his face, never smiling, never showing a dimply smile – just always looking contend and sated like he had gotten what he had wanted.


End file.
